


She Walks in Beauty like the Night

by quixoticlux



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Kylo Ren, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Jane Eyre - Freeform, Jane Eyre ABO, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Rey, candlelight and cravats, my apologies to Charlotte Bronte
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29140446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quixoticlux/pseuds/quixoticlux
Summary: There was a sliding sound through mud. Another neigh, but distressed now. The creature had tumbled, taking whomever was on it down with it. The dog was barking more wildly now.“What the hell,” a velvety voice muttered, the deep timbre penetrating right through her. “Chewy, stop that!”The command sent a shiver through Rey, down her spine, shooting straight into her center. The most delicious smell wafted over to her. Earthy, spicy. Leather and tobacco. A hint of bourbon and sweet vanilla. And a sharp, invigorating spruce. Her mouth watered.Alpha.Heavy, slow footsteps. The smell grew more intense. The universe narrowed to that smell.A black figure began to emerge from the fog. Images from an illustrated children’s Bible sprung to mind: The Four Horseman of the Apocalypse.This man was going to be the death of her, she just knew it.Yorkshire, England 1847. Rey Kanata, an impoverished orphan from Jakku School, has accepted a position at Mustafar Hall. What happens when the young Omega governess comes across the master of the house, who is not only dark, mysterious, and brooding, but an Alpha?
Relationships: Kylo Ren & Rey, Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 22
Kudos: 155





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted in November 2018, for Raven-Maiden's birthday. The beginning is very much like the novel, but it will diverge as it goes on.

_She walks in beauty, like the night_  
_Of cloudless climes and starry skies;_  
_And all that’s best of dark and bright_  
_Meet in her aspect and her eyes;_  
_Thus mellowed to that tender light_  
_Which heaven to gaudy day denies._

_One shade the more, one ray the less,_  
_Had half impaired the nameless grace_  
_Which waves in every raven tress,_  
_Or softly lightens o’er her face;_  
_Where thoughts serenely sweet express,_  
_How pure, how dear their dwelling-place._

_And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,_  
_So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,_  
_The smiles that win, the tints that glow,_  
_But tell of days in goodness spent,_  
_A mind at peace with all below,_  
_A heart whose love is innocent!_

_She Walks in Beauty, Lord Byron (1814)_

* * *

**I.**

It was cold and sombre, the sky an endless white marbled with grey. The wind penetrated even the thickest wool dresses and cloaks, weaving in the fibres the crisp smell of smoke from stone chimneys throughout Yorkshire. Leaves in brilliant shades of red and gold drifted down from half-bare trees with every gust, shriveling to a burnt orange upon the wild grass and tombstones surrounding the grounds of Jakku School. Thunder rumbled in the distance, as if it were a carriage slowly approaching, heralding grim news.

In short, it was November.

Rey Kenobi sat upon the cold ground underneath an alder tree. As she leaned against the trunk, she gazed up at the twisted branches jutting out towards the heavens like mangled arms reaching for salvation. She’d been out here all day, seeking solitude away from the dark, damp corridors of the school and the teachers and pupils that haunted them. Her numb fingertips were smudged with charcoal, wisps of her hair had been blown out of her braided bun, and her cheeks and nose were rosy with the nipping chill.

And yet she didn’t feel any of it. She had been feeling feverish all day, ever since the sun woke her by pouring a streak of molten gold across her eyes. She had struggled to even slip out of her nightgown, let alone lace up her stay and pull on her dress—a simple, modest grey, instead of her only other dress of a simple, modest black.

She really hoped she wasn't coming down with a cold. Or worse. Memories of the typhus fever that had spread like a plague throughout the school a little while after she had first arrived, at age ten, still haunted her. It had claimed the lives of eleven girls, including her only friend—a fellow orphan by the name of Paige Tico. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she could still hear the hacking coughs and see the black robes of the minister swooping into the room as weathered hands pushed her out, slamming the door in her face.

Paige’s younger sister by two years Rose soon started to follow Rey around. She found in Rey another sister, uniting in their shared grief, along with a hatred of Jakku and its headmaster, Mr. Plutt. An odious man who preached so often of sinning and hellfire and repentance as his own fat children paraded around the school in silk and fur, their noses scrunched up like little pigs.

Prior to the typhus, the quality of the food and water was enough to make anyone sick. Cold gruel, stale bread, and weak tea were served every meal—meat was rare, vegetables and fruit even rarer. Ribs and collarbones jutted out underneath pallid skin as worn, scratchy dresses hung off skeletons. Coughing echoed down stone hallways late into the freezing nights.

But after the typhus, things changed for the better at Jakku. The death of the girls brought attention to the school and the horrid conditions within. Wealthy and benevolent individuals, like Mrs. Organa, donated money and formed boards to implement regulations. Improvements were made to the quality of food, clothing, and education. And in time, Jakku became a fine institution indeed, and Rey found she was able to tolerate it better, even if the loneliness remained. It was, after all, her closest friend, if only because it had been with her from the very start.

Nine years passed. Rey spent six of them as a pupil and three as a teacher. Now, at nineteen years of age, she was in her first bloom. She was still thin and pale, but not sickly. A rosiness painted her cheeks and lips, a brightness gleamed in her hazel eyes. She never fancied herself beautiful, but lately she had taken to staring at her reflection in the oval brass mirror in her room, at her naked body through the black spiderwebs of oxidation.

She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Perhaps a sign she had finally become a woman. Her eyes would scrutinized her small but round breasts, the tuft of curls below her flat but soft belly, the freckles randomly dotting the pale expanse of her skin. All the while she’d wonder if anyone would ever see her like this.

No, not anyone. A man.

In the secret chamber of her heart, she longed to fall in love. She once longed for parents, or distant relations, or at the very least, a kind parental figure. Even a teacher would do. But those who taught her were just as cold as the slabs of stone that lined the schoolrooms. As she grew older, she’d begun longing for a different sort of family, one she could make herself. Her desire for parental affection morphed into something more. A longing for passion. A longing so strong, it made her chest feel hollow with a resounding ache. (Sometimes she thought it would have been better if she had come down with typhoid rather than live with the reality that she might never know another’s touch.)

Late at night, after she blew out the candle by her bedside, she’d lie in bed imagining a man. Or an outline of one, for the details were never clear. But it was one she filled in with whatever features and characteristics she’d gleaned from the romance novels some of the other teachers had snuck into the school from local shops. She’d even confiscated a few from her students, hidden behind schoolbooks and Bibles.

It was the closest some of them would ever come to romance. While it wasn't uncommon to marry at eighteen, most of the girls at Jakku didn’t have enough of a dowry to make an eligible match. While they weren’t so poor as to work as scullery maids or chambermaids, they also weren’t fortunate enough for their families to afford governesses. And so they were sent to Jakku for a proper English education until age sixteen, whereas they were then given the option of staying on as a teacher—provided they did well enough in their studies and displayed proper English decorum.

And Rey was nothing but a good English girl. She prayed. She kept her head down. She followed the rules. She dedicated herself to teaching, and to being a good role model and confidante to her pupils. She was there to hear their aspirations, their desires. She was there to dab at their feverish foreheads with a rag dipped in a bowl of cold water when they were sick with the flu, or on the rare occasions one presented as an Omega.

It usually happened around age fifteen or sixteen—the average age of first menstruation. But some presented later due to poor nutrition. Rey was both thankful and dismayed she had never presented.

On one hand, being an Omega came with agonizing heats every month for a week, which modern medicine had not yet found a way to alleviate. There were tonics, of course. Teas. And Jakku always had some on hand, in one of the cupboards in the kitchen. The doctor from the neighboring village would always also pay a visit whenever one of the girls presented. If the pain was particularly severe, he would provide them with a green glass bottle of laudanum. But other than that, not much could be done other than wait it out.

Waiting it out really meant writhing it out, screaming it out—and to the embarrassment of many—masturbating it out.

Rey would do everything she could for the poor young Omegas. She brought them meals on a silver tray, which they rarely ate. She helped them change out of their sweat-drenched nightgowns. She changed their sweat- and slick-covered bed linens. She read to them as a distraction, as if anything could distract them from the agony. She did everything she could, except what they _really_ wanted her to do: bring them an Alpha.

“Alpha,” they’d sob and wail. “Alpha, Alpha, Alpha,” they’d chant over and over, as if in a fit of a religious ecstasy.

And perhaps it was.

Rey would never know what it was like to need something so much. She wanted love, she wanted marriage, she wanted children. But she didn’t _need_ those things. These Omegas—they needed an Alpha to make their existence even bearable.

But on the other hand… Rey wondered what it would be like to be an Omega. A few of the romance novels smuggled in even featured passionate love affairs between a young Omega maiden and a dark, brooding Alpha. Sometimes the Alpha was a pirate or officer in the militia. Other times he was a gentleman—or at least, had the appearance of being a gentleman. Underneath the politeness and cravats lurked a deviant who wanted nothing more than to seduce and ravish innocent, young Omegas, before leaving them soiled and tainted, fit for nowhere else but a nunnery or whorehouse, no longer able to remember a time before an Alpha’s knot. The endings, however, always brought confessions of love and vows of loyalty, with the Omega’s pale neck pierced underneath the paler lace of a wedding gown.

To have a mate for life—someone who could never leave you, would never even want to—Rey could admit she saw the appeal. And these young Omegas would have more of a chance of securing a husband just by their designation alone, despite their lack of fortune. Omegas weren’t exactly rare, but they were definitely outnumbered by Alphas and Betas. Omegas were thus prized, chased, and ultimately mated. Even more rare than an Omega was an unmated Omega past the age of eighteen.

There were exceptions. Some joined convents. And at Jakku, some became teachers, protected by the fortress of the school and the wilderness of Yorkshire, with only a small village nearby. Yet even so, it wasn’t unusual for some teachers to go into the village to the post-office or dressmaker and come back three days later with a husband and a trunk.

The law required that once an Alpha mated an Omega, he was to marry her. Even though the mating was something older than marriage, something more primal and some would even snarl pagan, it had to be cemented by a priest, minister, or judge. It was to protect the daughters of England, for an Alpha could mate several women, creating a harem. To fail to marry, or to mate more than one Omega, resulted in an Alpha being fined and imprisoned, and after repeated offenses, sent to a penal colony in Australia.

The Omega could still marry, of course. But due to a biological imperative, most Alphas were not interested in courting an Omega they could never mate. It still happened, albeit rarely. More common was for an Omega to marry a Beta, but no matter how happy their union might be, it would always be marred by the fact that she truly belonged to another. Not to mention a Beta could never fully satisfy an Omega. It was just simple biology.

Omegas could not mate. It seemed unfair, somehow, that an Alpha could claim an Omega, but an Omega could not claim an Alpha. Men ruled the world in all things—in property, law, and all things monetary. Estates were entailed away to male heirs, dowries given to husbands. Men could freely have affairs with only gossip to contend with, while a woman would be fallen, shunned, a true daughter of Eve. And it was worse for mated Omegas. Affairs weren’t against the law, but with ordinary men, they were frowned upon as a moral failing. With Alphas, however, infidelity was expected, given their more animalistic nature. So long as they didn’t mate another, society looked the other way.

Ordinary men and women could obtain a divorce in Parliament, provided they had the financial means to, and only on the ground of adultery. For a woman to initiate a divorce, the adultery had to be compounded by life-threatening cruelty. But a mated Omega was forever bound, in both matrimony and whatever ancient magic was in a mating bite.

It seemed England didn't know what to make of this ancient species. The only way to control them—to ensure such hedonistic animals could be good, chaste Christians—was to make it where a mated Alpha and Omega could never be legally parted. If they divorced, then what was to stop an Alpha from mating another? And another? And another after that? Was he to marry them all?

And what of the Omega left behind, forever tied to the Alpha with an invisible string that could never be cut? Even if she were to marry another, she would always crave her Alpha above any other, would always bow to him no matter how high a wall she built up. And so a harem would be formed, if not literally than in spirit.

Rey thought back to Jessika, one of her students who left Jakku a few weeks ago. Her parents had arranged a marriage with a prominent Alpha barrister, despite her desire to stay as a teacher when she turned sixteen next year. She’d promised to write Rey once she got settled into married life, and with this thought, Rey closed her sketchbook, gathered her charcoal, and headed along the path towards the village.

Niima was a walk of two miles, but it was a pleasant one. Despite the chill, Rey didn’t believe she even needed her shawl. The wind felt invigorating. It cooled down what was surely becoming a fever. She knew she should likely make her way back to the school, for soon she would have to read prayers, see the girls to bed, and then have supper with the other teachers. Afterwards, she should retire to her room in order to rest for tomorrow’s lessons. But the enticing thought of a letter waiting for her kept her on the path winding through the dale.

By the time Rey reached the post-office, the autumn sky had begun to darken. She worried that perhaps this has been a fool’s errand. In the darkness, it would take her twice as long to make her way back to the school, despite knowing the path relatively well. And she didn’t want to even think about the reprimand she was going to receive.

The old woman who kept the post-office rooted around in a drawer for so long, Rey’s hopes began to falter. Yes, this _had_ been a fool’s errand after all. But alas! the woman pulled out a letter addressed to a R.K., the wax seal stamped with the letter K.

Rey slipped it into her pocket and bounded homeward.

*

It was two hours later that she was able to open it. As she bowed her head during the evening prayers, her lips said the words but her mind was engaged on the contents of the letter. The girls were seen to bed, and then a supper of ham and boiled potatoes was served. Rey rushed every bite, anxious to retire to the privacy of her room.

As soon as she finished, she rose from the table, bringing with her a candle to light her way down the dark corridors. Footsteps sounded behind her.

“Where are you rushing off to?” said Rose.

Rey turned around, smiling sheepishly at her friend and newly-appointed teacher. “I’m not feeling well. I think I’m going to go right to bed.”

Rose’s face fell. “Oh, really? I was hoping maybe we could spend time together.”

“Another night.” Rey put her hand up to her forehead, surprising herself that was actually quite warm.

Rose frowned. “Did you need the doctor?”

“Oh no, I’m sure I’ll be all right come morning.” Rey smiled again in what she hoped was a reassuring way. She felt awful not revealing to her best friend the real reason she wanted to retire, but really, it wasn’t entirely a lie. She really didn’t feel altogether well.

Rey made her way down corridor after corridor, her boots plodding on the floor, echoing against the stone walls. The candlelight flickered with the movement, blowing out twice in her haste. Thankfully the walls were lined with candles, so she was able to relight it. Finally she arrived at her room, pushing open the heavy wooden door and shutting it behind her with a resounding boom.

By the candlelight she broke open the seal, and with bated breath, unfolded the letter.

“I thank R.K. for the references of character and competency she has sent. I am hereby in the position to offer her the situation of governess to a pupil, a little girl, under ten years of age, with a salary of thirty pounds per annum. The post is required immediately, and upon arrival, R.K. shall be compensated for the inconvenience, along with any travel expenses incurred.

“Ms. Kanata, Mustafar Hall, near Chandrila, Yorkshire.”

Rey pressed the paper to her chest, which was beating madly with the thought of leaving this place for the first time in nine years. The road was stretched out in front of her, all of England and even the world was stretched out before her, and the possibilities felt endless.

*

Two days later, Rey awoke to the pitter-patter of raindrops falling fatly upon the windowpanes. They ran down in rivulets, blurring the autumn colours like paint splatters.

The quilt was lying in a heap on the floor. She must have kicked it off sometime in the middle of the night. Her nightgown had ridden up, exposing her legs to the air. Even so, she felt like she was burning up. Rey slowly rose and walked over to the window, opening the pane and sticking out an arm to feel the drops upon her flushed skin.

She was definitely sick. With every rise of the sun, she only felt worse.

No matter. Today would be the day she set off for Mustafar Hall. She would just have to endure.

She made arrangements for a coach in town yesterday, and informed the headmistress—then Rose, then her pupils, in that order—of her new position, and the haste of which was required. Thankfully Rose had offered to take on her classes, until a suitable replacement could be obtained.

She had packed her trunk late last night. She didn’t have a large wardrobe, nor did she have many other personal effects. She hadn’t realized how little she had until she started packing them, her trunk not even halfway full. At least it would be light to carry.

Rey shambled over to the wash basin, pouring the pitcher of water into it. She splashed the water upon her face with both hands, relishing in the coldness. She then pulled off her nightgown, which clung to her body with dampness. For a long moment she just stood there, reveling in the cool air upon her naked flesh. It felt… deliciously indecent. Perhaps even immoral. She felt like a pagan. Maybe soon she would be dancing naked under the moonlight.

It took longer than usual, but soon Rey was dressed in her black dress, bonnet, gloves, and muff. It was all so stifling, but she knew a fever could be deceptive. Even though the could would feel blessed upon her skin, it would only slow her recovery from the sickness. And she couldn’t afford to be sick, not when she was just starting a new position.

Rose was waiting for her outside. Her large eyes were glassy with unshed tears, her nose red from the cold and rough fabric of her handkerchief.

“I’m going to miss you so much.” She sniffled, holding Rey tight. “I wish you didn’t have to go. And so soon.”

“I’ll write to you every day,” Rey vowed, hugging her back just as tightly, despite the increased body heat. “And perhaps you can even visit! Or I can visit you.”

It was with this consolation that Rose finally released her, wiping at her round cheeks. “I hope you have a safe journey.” She paused, seeming to hesitate about something. Then, she whispered, “I love you, Rey.”

Rey’s breath caught. It was the first time anyone had said those words to her. “I love you too, Rose.” She smiled. “Sister.”

*

The journey took three days.

There was a stopover at an inn in Hanna City, where Rey was able to secure a room. She had a supper of mutton, potatoes, cheese, bread, and wine, then a breakfast of porridge and tea. The wine eased the aches she felt, even if it made her feel even warmer. The tea was stronger than it was at Jakku, and it invigorated her for the day’s travel. Especially as she hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. Partially due to the fever, partially due to the nervous excitement of arriving at Mustafar.

With every trot of the horse, the carriage jounced. Rey felt the porridge in her stomach lurch. She closed her eyes, leaning back against the black cushions, fighting the increasing rise of her breakfast.

At some point, she must have drifted off, for there was a sudden jolt as the carriage stopped. The horse neighed.

“We’re here, miss.” The coachman’s thick Yorkshire accent cut through her haze. “Mustafar Hall.”

Rey dabbed the sweat from her brow with her handkerchief. Then she opened the thick, heavy curtain of the door, revealing a thick wooden front door surrounded by slabs of stone. She opened the door of the carriage, placed one boot onto the step, then saw the ground rushing at her as her stomach reeled.

Suddenly strong arms were gripping the sides of her arms, steadying her. “There now, miss. You’re alright.”

Rey managed to mutter a thank you, then set about smoothing the fabric of her bodice and skirt. A maidservant came bounding out of the front door, a candle in hand to see through the thick fog. It glowed yellow and hazy through the misty pale blueness.

As the maidservant guided her towards the door, Rey glanced up. The fog was so thick, she couldn't see where the stone ended. It seemed to stretch on above forever. Perhaps it never ended at all.

Inside the mansion was a blur. The maidservant led her through a square hall with high doors all around, enshrouded in darkness. After several twists and turns, corridor after corridor, the maidservant finally ushered her into a small yet cozy room. Candles flickered upon the stone walls, the light swallowed by thick velvet curtains of a rich red. A fire cracked in the center of the room, illuminating an elderly woman wearing a widow’s cap and muslin apron, hunched in an armchair over her knitting.

“How do you do, my dear?” she said, the firelight reflecting in the thick glass of her spectacles. “I’m Ms. Kanata. I hope the journey was not too tedious.”

“Oh not at all,” Rey said, her voice coming out as no more than a whisper. She cleared her throat.

The woman stilled her hands, peering over at her. “Are you feeling well, dear? Please, sit down by the fire.”

It was the last thing Rey wanted to do, but she obliged her. She sat in the armchair facing her, on the edge of the cushion, turned slightly away from the fire, as far away as she could get.

“You look quite flushed.” Ms. Kanata leaned over the small round table next to her chair, then poured a glass of water from a pitcher. She handed the glass to Rey. “Please, drink. I’ll have Jyn bring you some supper. Then I suggest you retire for the evening. I’ve had the bedroom next to mine prepared. There are larger and finer chambers in the front, but they are so dreary and solitary. I hope you don’t mind.”

Rey swallowed the last of her water, relishing in the coolness slipping down her throat to her stomach. “Not at all. I thank you for your hospitality.”

Ms. Kanata poured her more water as she instructed the maidservant—whom Rey now knew as Jyn—to bring her some stew and negus. “I know hot food and drink may be the last thing you desire right now, but trust me, they’re the best thing for oncoming heats. They make you sweat, which in turn cools down the flesh.”

“Oh no,” Rey said, then paused to take another gulp. “This isn’t a heat. I’m not an Omega.”

Ms. Kanata just stared at her for a long moment, then shook her head. “Oh my child. _You are._ I can smell you. You see, I’m an Omega myself. I no longer have heats, not for a long time now. But my nose is just as sharp as ever.”

“No, that’s impossible.” Wasn’t it?

“Mr. Solo won’t be pleased,” she muttered seemingly to herself, as if she hadn’t heard her. “He _had_ , after all, instructed me to ensure whomever I hired was not an Omega, as I had intimated in my letter to you when requesting references.”

“I’m not an Omega,” Rey said again, her voice louder now, but still barely above a whisper.

Ms. Kanata fixed her with a look of sympathy. “It’s of no matter now. No use worrying yourself over it.” She nodded firmly. “You’re here now, and that’s that. I’ll take the blame for any misunderstanding. I’ve dealt with many a tantrum from Mr. Solo over the years, and this won’t be any different. No, don’t you worry Ms. Kenobi. You still have a position here, if you want it.”

*

The first thing Rey felt upon waking was heat. An intense, all-consuming inferno, as if she had been thrown into the very pit of hell. The flames were licking her flesh, melting her muscles, evaporating her blood, incinerating her bones until she was nothing but ash in a four-post bed.

And the aches. Oh the aches. They gnawed and throbbed. Her limbs were leaden, her thighs and abdomen sore. But nothing was more tender than her center. It clamped around nothing. She had never felt emptier. Or more alone.

And wet. Not only did Jyn frequently dab her forehead with a handkerchief dipped in cold water, she also had Ms. Kanata help dunk her into a brass bathtub filled with ice cold water. It felt marvelous. Rey had never felt anything more marvelous. She could die here, in the bath.

Then there was the wetness pooling beneath her as soon as the women helped her back into bed, into fresh, clean linen. It wouldn't be long before a large spot formed again, her slick thick and slippery underneath her bottom, her nightgown having ridden up as her fingers worked inside her, almost of their own accord.

But nothing could make it go away. If anything, she felt worse afterwards, every cell in her body screaming for an Alpha, where is the Alpha, why doesn’t he come, where is he, please please Alpha, _please_.

She didn’t eat. She didn’t sleep. At least not restfully.

Days and nights blurred together. Rey stopped trying to figure out how much time had passed, how many days, if it was dawn or dusk. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing but Alphas.

And then, little by little, it all became more bearable. The flames cooled down, lowering to a flicker. And then one day, they were snuffed out.

Rey was herself again.

*

The child was called Kira.

She was nine years of age, with auburn ringlets and wide blue eyes. She chattered excitedly in French as she danced, sang, and played with her dolls, often ignoring her lessons. But she was a sweet girl, and was fond of Rey, as Rey was fond of her.

A week passed in relative quiet. For such a large house, the servants went mostly unseen. Rey assumed this had something to do with the master’s infamous temper. Such was the ferocity of his fits that the staff tip-toed around the place like ghosts, even when he wasn't at home.

Rey was surprised at how quickly she got used Mustafar. How easily she slipped into a routine. She took breakfast every morning with Ms. Kanata and Jyn, which typically consisted of porridge, eggs, bacon, bread, coffee, and tea. There was fresh milk, butter, and jam. It was the richest food she had ever tasted, and part of her—the part that was still a hungry child under the neglect of Headmaster Plutt—itched to hoard some of the food in her pockets.

After breakfast, Rey would go about teaching Kira in the library. Then they would break for lunch, followed by a walk in the gardens. Piano or drawing lessons would then commence until the early evening, until supper was announced. Then Kira’s nurse would entertain her until bed, while Rey would draw or paint, welcoming the solitude like a dear friend.

Sometimes, Rey would use her time alone to wander the house, her hands drifting over the engraved swirls in the polished wood, the shiny ornamental brass, the lush velvet of the heavy drapes. There were entire wings of uninhabited rooms, as if ghosts dwelled there.

“In what order you keep the house, Ms. Kanata,” she said to the housekeeper one day while sewing loose stitches that had come undone upon the sleeve of her grey dress. “Not a speck of dust, nor canvas coverings. Besides being a bit chilly, one would think they were daily inhabited.”

“While Mr. Solo’s visits are rare, they are always sudden and unexpected. It’s best to keep the rooms in readiness, just in case.”

“Is Mr. Solo a fastidious sort of man?”

Ms. Kanata seemed to consider this. “Not particularly so, but he has a gentleman’s tastes and habits, and he expects things to be… a certain way.”

“Do you like him? Is he generally well liked?”

“Oh yes, his family has always been respected here. Nearly all the land in this neighbourhood, as far as you see, has belonged to them at one time or another.”

“But do _you_ like him?”

Ms. Kanata smiled, but it seemed a bit off. “I have no cause to dislike him. He is considered a just and liberal landlord.”

“Has he any peculiarities? What is his character?”

“He is… rather peculiar, perhaps. Prone to angry outbursts, though honestly I’ve never seen him take it out on anyone but himself. And whatever rooms he happens to decide to… _redecorate_. He has travelled a great deal, and seen a great deal of the world. He is intelligent and clever, though I‘ve never had much conversation with him. He prefers to keep to himself.”

Rey burned to ask more, but she felt Ms. Kanata was done speaking on the subject. The conversation then turned to the weather and the possibility of going into town on errands the next day. Then silence descended, and Rey was glad for it.

*

After an early supper one day, Rey decided to head to the local village of Chandrila to post a letter to Rose. It was a rainy afternoon, but there was a lull in between the downpours, the drops slowing to an intermittent patter upon the ground, dripping off of leaves onto Rey’s bonnet.

Fog descended thickly upon the woods. Bare branches jutted out through the white blotter like they wanted to grab a hold of Rey’s cloak. The wool snagged here and there as she made her way in deeper.

Barking.

A shaggy brown dog scampered past her.

Then a neighing in the distance.

Rey stopped, her letter clutched in her gloved hand. Another neigh sounded, then the sure sounds of trotting. It grew louder. All of a sudden, she felt a _whoosh_ as a black blur passed her, her heart thumping madly in her chest as she stumbled backwards.

There was a sliding sound through mud. Another neigh, but distressed now. The creature had tumbled, taking whomever was on it down with it. The dog was barking more wildly now.

“What the hell,” a velvety voice muttered, the deep timbre penetrating right through her. “Chewy, stop that!”

The command sent a shiver through Rey, down her spine, shooting straight into her center. The most delicious smell wafted over to her. Earthy, spicy. Leather and tobacco. A hint of bourbon and sweet vanilla. And a sharp, invigorating spruce. Her mouth watered.

 _Alpha_.

Heavy, slow footsteps. The smell grew more intense. The universe narrowed to that smell.

A black figure began to emerge from the fog. Images from an illustrated children’s Bible sprung to mind: The Four Horseman of the Apocalypse.

This man was going to be the death of her, she just knew it.

Black eyes hard as coals, set in a pale visage with an aquiline nose. Freckles dotting his skin like constellations. Tendrils of silky black waves brushing the shoulders of his black waistcoat. Even his cravat was black.

Plush lips. They were moving. She imagined what they would feel like against hers.

“ _Omega_.”

Every fibre in Rey’s body attuned to him. “Alpha,” she whispered, surprising herself by how low and breathy her voice sounded. It didn’t even sound like her.

He tilted. Or rather, Rey’s head tilted. His eyes widened, his lips parted. It suddenly occurred to her she was baring her neck to him. Silently begging him to bite her. She didn’t even think about it. She didn’t care. It was pure instinct.

The Alpha’s nostrils were flared, his wide black-clad chest heaving with deep breaths. But then he was covering his nose with the edge of his sleeve, his eyes narrowing.

“Where do you come from, Omega?” he panted out, his voice gruff. “Do you have a home in this neighborhood?”

It took everything in Rey’s power not to pull her dress down, unlace her stay, and bare herself to him. She shook her head to banish the thought. “Over there.” She pointed in the direction of Mustafar.

The Alpha— _Man, Rey… you are not an animal_ —followed her hand. “Over there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know whose house it belongs to?” he demanded.

Something inside her commanded her to answer his question, despite the danger of revealing too much to a stranger. “Mr. Solo, sir.”

“And are you acquainted with Mr. Solo?”

“No, sir.”

A dark look passed over his face. “You are not a servant of the hall. You are—”

“The governess,” Rey interjected. “… _Sir_.”

If it was in any way possible, his countenance grew even darker. “I see. Well. You better get on home before it grows darker, Omega. You never know what sort of creature lurks in these woods. Creatures more menacing than wolves.” His black eyes flicked down over her body, as if he could see right through the thick wool of her dress and cape. “And you are such a _ripe_ little thing.”

A long moment passed as he stared into her, unblinking. Rey’s heart fluttered in her chest.

But then he abruptly turned around, whistling to his mutt before ascending his neighing horse. He swung one thigh over the black stallion, and then with a kick, he galloped away into the fog, fading into it like he was never there at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you like to read a one-shot vampire version of this fic? [Here ya go!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26776399/chapters/65338387)


	2. II.

**II.**

The cloak of evening fell before Rey returned to Mustafar.

As the grand stone house came into view through the hanging fog, relief flooded her veins. The entire walk to the post-office and back, shivers had ran down her spine, but it had nothing to do with the chill in the late autumn air. Alpha would be displeased she had decided to continue her errand instead of hurrying back home straight away.

She stopped herself, wondering what did it matter to her? He was just some random man, likely a baronet or member of the landed gentry, going off of how expensive his clothing and stallion looked. Someone who would never look twice at her. Someone she was unlikely to ever come across again. He probably wouldn’t even remember her if she did.

Surely her newly-discovered designation was responsible for the quickening beat of her heart and her quickening steps through the path in the woods. He was the first Alpha she had come across as an Omega, having never been affected by them before. She was so little acquainted with them—and men in general. The only Alpha she had ever met had been an apprentice shoemaker by the name of Matthew, but it was only afterwards that she had become aware of his designation, the Omega schoolgirls giggling over him for weeks, purposefully breaking their soles, walking around with limps in order to see him again.

This mysterious Alpha in the woods had looked so good, had smelt so good, that Rey thought maybe she’d break her own soles to see him again, too.

Was he a landowner nearby? Or was he perhaps visiting someone? Something akin to jealousy and possessiveness surged in Rey’s chest as she wondered if he was courting a lady in town. Or—even more of a depressing thought—he was already married and mated. A man like that—an _Alpha_ like that—surely would be.

But there was no use dwelling on such thoughts. She was only a governess, and would likely be for the rest of her life. She was above a servant, her education and accomplishments setting her apart, but she was also without fortune, without connection, with not even beauty to recommend her. The best she could hope for was to spend the rest of her days as she did now, with a comfortable abode, a keen pupil, and enough income to support herself, even if the days were quiet and the nights even quieter. Even if nothing ever exciting happened.

Solitude had never bothered her. She had often longed for it away from Headmaster Plutt and the commotion of the school. Her most cherished memories—other than those spent with Paige and Rose—were when she was alone out in the moors, the wind whipping upon her skin, making her feel alive.

But looking at Mustafar now, the solitude depressed her.

To pass its threshold was to return to stagnation. The hall would be silent, the stair-case dark, her room empty. The only company she could expect to spend the evening with was Ms. Kanata, and while she liked the old woman well enough, she longed for a friend closer to her own age—someone she could confide in, share all her secret longings with, without fear of fright or judgement.

Being alone had suddenly morphed into loneliness.

*

The clock was striking in the hall by the time Rey opened a side door and slipped in.

To her surprise, the hall was not dark, nor was it yet lightened by the high-hung bronze lamp. A warm glow was shining upon the stone walls and lower steps of the oak staircase. This light was emitting from the great dining-room, which Rey had never seen inside of before. The two-leaved door was always shut, yet now it was wide open, revealing a brilliant fire in the grate that illuminated a marble hearth, brass fire-iron, deep purple draperies, and polished furniture in the most luxurious radiance. It revealed a group near the mantlepiece.

Rey found herself drawn towards the room like a moth to a flame. She could almost smell the leather of the upholstery, the wisps of tobacco floating in the air, the bourbon swirling in cut-crystal tumblers, prisms of light dancing everywhere. Distantly, she heard voices, but as soon as she recognized the cheerful tone of Kira, the door closed.

Rey was left in the dark once again.

She hastened to Ms. Kanata’s room, where there was a fire but no candle, and no Ms. Kanata. Instead, there was a shaggy brown dog lying on the rug. It looked so much like the one she had glimpsed running past her in the lane, that she heard herself calling out “Chewie.” The dog lifted his head and got up, wagging his tail cheerfully as he bounded over to her as if she were a long-lost friend. Rey caressed his fur for a few moments before ringing the bell.

Jyn entered.

“Whose dog is this?” Rey asked.

“He came with master.”

“With whom?”

Jyn looked at her as if she was stupid. “With master—Mr. Solo. He is just arrived.”

Chewie nudged Rey’s hand, clearly unhappy she had ceased with the petting. “Indeed… And is Ms. Kanata with him?”

“Yes, and Miss Kira. They are in the dining-room. John has gone for a surgeon, for master has had an accident. His horse fell and his ankle is sprained.”

Everything in the room grew sharper as Rey felt her heart speed up, as if she’d had a cup of the rich coffee with fresh cream and burnt sugar she enjoyed in the kitchen in the mornings—one of the many indulgences she’d come to look forward to since making Mustafar her home two weeks ago.

Rey composed herself as best she could, hoping her countenance didn’t betray her. “Did the horse fall in Hay-lane?”

“Yes,” Jyn replied. “Coming down hill. It slipped upon some mud, I reckon.”

“Thank you. Bring me a candle, will you Jyn?”

As soon as she left, Ms. Kanata came in, repeating the news. The surgeon was with him now. Before Rey could inquire any further, Ms. Kanata was hurrying out to give orders for tea. Rey didn’t even wait for Jyn the return with the candle before she was rushing off herself, up the steps that she took two at a time, down the hall, to her room. The darkness didn’t frighten her. There were worse things to be afraid of, like herself. And what she wanted to do—what she might do—if close enough to Mr. Solo again.

*

All night long, Rey was restless.

She blamed the wind. It was gaining momentum over the wild moors, whistling through the bare trees, rattling the window-pane like a ghost that demanded to be let in. _Let me in, let me in._

Rey listened to it. As soon as she undid the latch, the pane flew open, the cold night air piercing her like a thousand needles, penetrating her thin muslin nightgown. Strands of her hair, which was loose and long, were drifting everywhere, making her feel as untamed as a horse that refused to be broken. The moon was full, its light gleaming upon the grey stone, her pale skin and white nightgown glowing in the dark.

How she longed to run with abandon across the moors, a crown of wildflowers upon her head, a queen of all wild things.

*

Despite the scant few hours of sleep, Rey had never felt more awake. She didn’t even need the coffee she so longed for every morning, but she would take little pleasures where she could. Every sound was amplified—every heavy footstep could be his. Every time a door opened, it could be him walking through it.

Mustafar seemed a changed place. No longer was it as silent and solemn as a church. Echoes were everywhere—footsteps up and down the halls, the ringing of the bell, voices of the servants. It seemed as if the stone and wood itself was transforming with all the life.

The library was no longer to be used as a schoolroom. According to Ms. Kanata, it would now be used as a reception-room for callers, for Mr. Solo had business to attend to with his agent and any tenants waiting to speak with him. The apartment upstairs was now for their permanent use.

All afternoon, Kira could not be taught. She kept running to the door and peering over the banisters to see if she could catch a glimpse of Mr. Solo, and often made up excuses to go downstairs. Rey could not completely blame her, for she herself felt the anticipation coursing through her veins, speeding up her heart.

When evening arrived, Rey finally permitted Kira to put away her books and run downstairs. There was relative silence below, the doorbells having ceased for an hour or so, thus Rey supposed Mr. Solo to finally be at liberty. With every passing second, the blues and purples of dusk were fading into a dark blue, and Rey wondered if she would ever get to see Mr. Solo for herself. Or if perhaps he was like a spectral being, his presence and smell haunting the house and then dissipating until she couldn't be entirely certain of his existence. What if he left Mustafar before she ever had the chance to see him? What if he were to leave first thing in the morning, off to gallivant through Europe for months or even years, like he was apparently wont to do?

What if she never saw him again?

Rey fought down a rise of panic that had surged as suddenly as a tide.

It didn’t matter if he left. Things would go on, just as they had before. She still had a position here. That was all that mattered. Not silly daydreams of Alphas and their smell and their dark eyes and plush lips and wavy black hair. Her mind had simply been corrupted by too many of those silly romance novels the girls at Jakku had smuggled in.

Rey busied herself with gathering the books strewn about the table. One of them was a volume of Shakespeare she had borrowed from the library, which she had taken to occupying herself with as Kira worked on arithmetic. She opened it to where the bookmark was last placed in _Romeo and Juliet_ and went to sit by the window.

Embers cracked as Rey traced her fingertips over the page.

_These violent delights have violent ends_   
_And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,_   
_Which, as they kiss, consume._

The air was disturbed as Ms. Kanata came into the room.

“Mr. Solo would be glad if you and your pupil would take tea with him in the drawing-room this evening,” she said. “He has been much engaged all day that he could not ask to see you before.”

“When is his tea-time?” Rey inquired.

“At six o’clock. You had better change out of your frock now; I’ll go with you to help you fasten it. Here is a candle.”

Rey looked down at her grey dress. “Is that really necessary?”

“Yes, you had better. I always dress for the evening when Mr. Solo is here.”

Rey felt herself blush, only having one other dress—a black one. Nevertheless, she changed into it, hoping the lack of finery wouldn’t offend the master. But why would it? She was only the governess; someone of little consequence to him.

She let Ms. Kanata proceed her in the dining-room, keeping in her shadow as they crossed the apartment. With every step, her heart was beating madly underneath her corset, perspiration forming upon her skin. As they approached the wide arch, the red velvet curtain was pulled back.

Leather. Spice. Tobacco. Bourbon. Vanilla. Spruce.

It hung in the air as thick and heavy as fog.

Two long wax candles flickered upon the table, and two on the mantle-piece. Chewie was basking in front of the fire, with Kira knelt on the rug next to him. And Mr. Solo—the man in black, the Alpha from the woods, the ghost who haunted Mustafar—was half-reclined on the couch, his foot supported by a cushion, his skin aglow from candlelight and firelight.

Mr. Solo must have been aware of the entrance of Ms. Kanata and Rey, but he didn't appear to be in the mood to notice them, not even turning his head from where he was staring into the fire. Something sank inside Rey, and she realized it was disappointment.

“Here is Miss Kenobi, sir,” said Ms. Kanata quietly.

“Let Miss Kenobi be seated,” he said gruffly, still not looking at them, not even bowing as was expected and polite.

Rey stepped closer to him, noticing his nostril flared ever so slightly as she did so. As she stood, she silently dared him to notice her. Maybe it was better this way, his inattentive dismissiveness bordering on rudeness. If he were polite, she would have to be on her best behaviour, answering with grace and elegance that she didn’t believe she naturally possessed. At least, not to the degree he must be accustomed to in his circles.

Ms. Kanata, clearly of the belief that silence must be filled, began to talk as she usually did—kindly, but saying nothing of great value or importance.

“Madam, I would like some tea,” was the only response she got. She hastened to ring the bell, and when the tray arrived, she went about arranging the cups and spoons. Rey and Kira went over to the table, but Mr. Solo did not leave the couch.

“Will you hand Mr. Solo his cup?” Ms. Kanata whispered to Rey. “Kira might spill it.”

Rey took it from her hand. As she turned around to walk towards him, she noticed his head turned quickly back to the fire, as if he had been watching her. But surely he hadn’t been.

Every step towards him felt like a string was being pulled. He was an anchor and she was the ship, sinking.

She handed him the porcelain saucer and cup, painted with delicate roses and leaves. It made a slight clattering sound as his large hand grasped it.

His fingertips brushed her hand.

Sparks.

His head snapped to her, his eyes impossibly dark. Flickers from the fire danced in them.

“I thought I told you no Omegas,” he growled while staring at Rey, though clearly he was addressing Ms. Kanata across the room. “Your post for a governess was to be _explicit_ in this.”

Ms. Kanata froze like a deer sensing danger, but she seemed to quickly recover, clearly used to his odd, brusque manner.

“She didn’t know,” Rey said without thinking, without being spoken to. “Nor did I. I experienced my first heat here, the night I arrived.”

Mr. Solo’s eyes widened, his lips parted. “Here? The first night? Pray, how old are you?”

“Nineteen, sir.”

“I thought they came on sooner for young women.”

“They usually do, I believe.” Rey bit her bottom lip, noticing that Mr. Solo’s eyes flicked down, following the movement.

“A late bloomer, I suppose,” he mumbled, which seemed to be be more to himself than her.

“…I suppose, sir.”

“Please, sit.” He motioned to the chair opposite. Rey wondered if it was an Alpha command, but just the fact she was uncertain was enough to convince her it wasn’t. From what she had remembered reading, when an Alpha commanded you, _you knew it._

Still, Rey did as she was told. He was her employer, after all. A man who outranked her in every possible way.

“You have been a resident in my house these two weeks?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you come from—?”

“Jakku School.”

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard of it. A _charitable_ institution.” Rey felt a pang of embarrassment at this. “How long were you there?”

“Nine years.”

Mr. Solo scoffed in amazement. “Nine years! God, you must weary of life. So long in such a place and I would have surely killed myself.” He took a sip of his tea.

Rey didn’t know what to say to that. Was he trying to provoke her? His dark eyes stared into her over the rim of his cup.

“No wonder you have the look of another world about you,” he continued. “When you came upon me in the lane last night, I thought of fairy tales, and had half a mind to demand whether you had bewitched my horse. I am not sure yet. Who are your parents?”

“I have none.”

“Do you remember them?”

A memory flashed through Rey’s mind. Five years of age, watching a carriage drive away, the sound of hooves trotting on the dirt path. A cruel hand gripping her arm, holding her back. Then a series of homes, each one progressively worse than the last. Her hands, raw and red from scrubbing. Her fingernails cracked and black. Her muscles aching from all the hard labour she had to endure. It was nothing compared to the cruelty suffered at the hands of the children of those who so generously allowed her to clean for them. _Bastard_ , they’d sneered while pushing her down and kicking over buckets of dirty water, flooding all over newly-cleaned floors. _Scavenger_.

“No,” Rey answered.

“I thought not. And were you waiting for your people in the woods?”

Rey’s eyebrows furrowed. “Sir?”

“For the men in robes. It was a full moon out. Did I break through one of your fairy rings, and in retaliation you turned all the ground to mud?”

The way Mr. Solo was staring at her, unblinking, waiting for her answer… Rey felt shivers of excitement down her spine. He was being playful with her.

She shook her head. “The men in robes all forsook England a hundred years ago,” she said as seriously as she could. “Their Order was destroyed, and the last of them went into self-exile, to islands undiscovered, uncharted on any map. Not a trace of them remains.”

Ms. Kanata, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, dropped her knitting and raised her eyebrows. A hint of a smile pulled at Mr. Solo’s lips as he continued to stare at her.

“Well,” he finally said, “if you don’t have any parents, you must have some sort of kinsfolk. Aunts and uncles?”

“No, not that I know of.”

“And your home?”

“I have none.”

“Where do your brothers and sisters live?”

“I have no brothers or sisters.”

“So you come from nothing,” he said, his eyes roving down her body as if he could see through her plain dress, to the the pitiful undergarments underneath.

“Miss Kenobi has been an invaluable companion to me, and a kind and careful teacher to Kira—”

“Don’t trouble yourself to give her a character recommendation,” Mr. Solo snapped. “I shall judge for myself. She began by felling my horse.”

“Sir?” said Ms. Kanata.

“I have her to thank for this sprain.”

The poor, elderly woman looked bewildered.

“I assume you haven’t seen much of society,” Mr. Solo continued.

“None but the pupils and teachers of Jakku, and those residing here.”

“An Omega all alone, without a friend in the world.”

Rey bristled. “I _have_ friends, thank you.”

“Ah, that wounds the ego, doesn’t it? Friends of the male persuasion? … _Alphas_?”

Rey could feel her heart pounding. She wondered if he could see it, the way it moved her chest.

“Have you ever been around an Alpha before?” He leaned forward slightly, the leather of the couch creaking, looking very much like a wolf with its prey in sight. “Have you ever been _with_ an Alpha before?”

Rey swallowed thickly, looking down at the swirls in the rug.

“No,” he said, seemingly to himself. He leaned back again. “You’ve lived the life of a nun.”

“Do you have any presents for me?” Kira cried out, clearly unable to wait any longer. Ms. Kanata shushed her, but it was of no use.

Mr. Solo tore his eyes away from Rey, and as soon as he did so, she could feel it, like his gaze had been a physical thing. He had released her from whatever spell he had placed her under. She took a deep gulp of air in, not realizing she had stopped breathing. This proved to be a mistake, for his scent filled her lungs, her entire being.

“Yes, yes,” he muttered to the child. “In the corner, over there.”

Kira excitedly went over to the trunk and pulled out a wrapped item. She tore into the paper, and as it fell onto the floor, a porcelain doll was revealed. Her eyes lit up, a smile upon her face. “Thank you, thank you! It’s beautiful!” She brushed her fingers over its flaxen hair. “What about Miss Kenobi?”

His eyes were back on Rey. “What about Miss Kenobi? Do you mean to ask if she’s beautiful, or if she gets a present? Were you expecting a present, Miss Kenobi?”

Rey shook her head.

“Are you fond of presents?”

“I hardly know, sir. I have little experience of them. They are generally thought pleasant things.”

“Never had a present… What kind of presents would you like, if you could have them?”

The only thing that came to mind was the man sitting right in front of her. She’d never wanted anything more. Not even her parents back.

“Praise on my pupil’s progress,” Rey lied, “for nothing makes a teacher happier.”

“But what makes _Miss Kenobi_ happy?”

She thought about it. “Brilliant autumn leaves the colour of fire. The way the air smells after it rains. Rumbling thunder. Heather on the moors. A robin at my window. The moon.”

It felt like Mr. Solo was staring into her very soul. Rey found she couldn't look away. There was something magnetic, something magic, something… something…

“And you want me to give you all that?” he said. “Those are your deepest desires?”

“I never said that.” It had slipped out. Rey’s eyes widened as her breath caught.

What ever hint of a smile had been pulling at his lips now broke out into something positively wolfish.

“Are there any other presents for me?” Kira asked as she came up to the couch with her doll tucked under her arm.

Mr. Solo’s entire countenance changed. His smile turned into a hard line again as he checked his watch. “What are you about, Miss Kenobi, keeping Kira up at such an hour?” he snapped. “Take her to bed.”

“Yes, sir,” Rey replied, at once standing up to grab Kira’s hand. As she crossed the room, she could feel the burning feeling of black eyes on her like coals, but she willed herself not to look back.

It was still not an Alpha command, but it was a command nonetheless. One she knew she must obey, if she wanted to avoid experiencing his infamous temper for herself. Still, a part of her—a deep, secret part—wanted to provoke him; to see how far he could lose control.

After Rey helped Kira get ready for bed with the help of her nurse, she retired to her own room. Once inside, she quickly unlaced her dress and corset, letting it collapse onto the floor in a heap. Clad in only her chemise, she went over to the window and unlocked the latch, welcoming the chilly night air against her flushed skin.

She then proceeded to sit down at the window-seat and open her sketchbook to a fresh page. As she unraveled the cloth that contained her pencils, charcoal, and knife, she decided upon the charcoal. His black eyes, his black wavy tresses that brushed the shoulders of his black waistcoat, his black shirt, his black cravat—darkness not only surrounded this man, he was darkness. Rey furiously tried to capture it all by the light of the moon and single candle.

It was only when a strong gust blew the flame out an hour later that Rey finally decided to go to bed. She drifted off to fantasies of Mr. Solo, of things she could never say aloud, could never even think in the light of day.


End file.
